summary: when Jack, your favourite customer, has an accident, it takes once little sentence for everyone to think he is your fiance.
word count: 1k
a/n: currently writing a long one-shot pope x reader so i just decided to take a small break to do a blurb that could perhaps one day become a multichapter project, you tell me!
Jack Abbot who's a regular at your coffee shop and comes in every workday at 5:37pm on the dot, ordering the same thing every time – black coffee, no sugar – and who doesn’t know that you start prepping his coffee the second the clock hits 5:36, that you planned your wedding with him a thousand times over and that your heart flutters each time he says “Thanks, kid.” and leaves you a nice tip.
Jack Abbot who reads at the table by the window, one leg stretched out, and you, who start reading the same books, curl up in bed and rehearse conversations in your head, words you never say aloud because you don’t want to look foolish in front of a guy who’s probably twenty years your senior, and that you absolutely don’t think about how his hands would feel like on you.
Jack Abbot who, seven days before Christmas, gets his coffee before hurriedly heading out for work, leaving his book on the table and you running after him with it, only to see him get hit by a car and immediately calling for an ambulance while clutching his hand and murmuring his name.
Jack Abbot who gets wheeled into the emergency room while you follow, trying to explain the accident to the doctor who immediately blanches at Jack’s unresponsive body, repeating in a broken voice “Brother, you hear me? Jack?” and you, who keeps walking behind until the doors of the CT Scan room swing shut, whispering to yourself “Fuck. I was going to marry that man.” and the charge nurse who hears and walks you to the room for the families with a gentle “Oh, sweetheart, Jack is strong.”
Jack Abbot who wakes up days later to lights he knows by heart and the slow beep of machines, a girl sitting in a chair nearby, chin tucked to her chest, a book in her lap, while she snores softly, wondering if the voice he heard in the darkness was hers.
Jack Abbot who listens to Robby murmuring “You gave her a scare brother. You should have told me about her, I wouldn’t have judged you.” while Dana informs him “Your girl hasn’t left since you came in. Had to force her to eat and shower.” and he feels his stomach drop, because he remembers her - you, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, at least two decades younger, the one he never had the nerve to ask out – but doesn’t remember the part where you became his.
Jack Abbot who assumes that he doesn’t remember you and him dating because he had a traumatic brain injury, which could have led to post-traumatic amnesia, so he apologizes to you before he even asks questions, voice hoarse and raw, telling you how sorry he is that he has forgotten it “I will remember kid, I swear I will.” and who watches your face crumble a little and mistakes it for sadness instead of guilt.
Jack Abbot who has to deal with Shen sipping on his Dunkin’ with a smirk when he decides to pay him a visit to tell him that he “never thought you still had game, old man.” and endures it because each time it makes you blush and he wants nothing more than to see it happening again.
Jack Abbot who doesn’t remember your first date - if he held your hand or kissed you when he walked you home - so he improvises one on the rooftop with the help of Robby and his ducklings even if he has to drag his IV with him and walking is a fucking nightmare that reminds him of the time he had to relearn to walk with a prosthetic quickly forgotten by the look in your eyes when you see the table, all stunned and teary-eyed, and that you let him kiss you on the same spot he used to stand after the bad shifts.
Jack Abbot who has so many questions, gets cheeky and can’t let it go “So we don’t live together?” “Um…no.” “Why not?” “I’m…old-fashioned.” “Do we have sex then?” and he loves it because you don’t let him mess with you, nudging him bright red “Not that old-fashioned!” “Oh so…missionary with the lights off? Is that how I treat my girl?” “Jack!”.
Jack Abbot who gets discharged mid-January and who tries to convince you that he is perfectly capable of having sex even with a healing head injury “You can get on top.” “Jack!” “That would help me heal, doctor’s advice.” “That’s not how it works!”.
Jack Abbot who doesn’t understand why he didn’t get you a proper ring, why you don’t live together and why he didn’t introduce you to his friends while you are just so full of guilt and want nothing more than to confess but you meet Robby properly, Dana, and her husband Benji and suddenly you are part of something and that makes you hesitate about telling him the truth and blowing it all apart.
Jack Abbot who remembers the accident one ordinary evening when February ends, and remembers that you were never his in the first place, who comes back to his place where you’re eating his favorite ice-cream, curled on the couch wearing his shirt and watching some trashy tv show you love and sits next to you, arm sliding around your shoulders and whispers, “I’m not angry kid, okay?”.
Jack Abbot who holds you while you are sobbing and trying to explain to him the whole situation and the worst part is…he gets it, he understands how the situation became impossible to get out of, and how at some point you felt you couldn’t confess and he really is not angry because he thinks that he might have done the same.
Jack Abbot who decided that from now on the rooftop was your first date, your first kiss, your first everything, who kisses your forehead before murmuring “We’ll be okay.” and you who believe him.
Jack Abbot who shows up the day after at 5:37 sharp for a black coffee, no sugar, and who doesn’t take his usual table by the window, who stays at the counter. “Mind if I stay kid?”
Summary: Firefighters aren't supposed to get stuck in trees.
Companion piece to:
The Problem - After a fire decimates Firehouse 83, Brett runs into issues when he's brought in to cauterise the supposed problem.
Abbey Road - Brett helps you navigate the worse day of your life.
One For The Road - Brett refuses to let you drink alone in the aftermath of your husband’s infidelity.
Morning Wood - Your morning with Brett is rudely interrupted when your soon to be ex-husband makes an appearance.
Judas Herbs - Brett decides to do something about the herb garden your ex donated.
Prequel to:
Secret Santa (NSFW) - Brett regrets one of his Christmas gifts.
Tinderbox - The fire at your old home sheds light on a bigger problem.
Santa Baby - Brett takes it upon himself to retrieve your ex-husband.
The Three of Us - Brett steps in when your ex-husband tries to force you into a tricky position.
Peaches - At the end of a horrible day, Brett takes it upon himself to look after you.
Making Biscuits - Brett puts his cards on the table after you spend the night at his place.
Harsh Truths - Brett is forced to tell you some harsh truths as your divorce starts to drag out.
The Lake (NSFWish) - Brett doesn't mean to catch you skinny dipping.
Wild Bloom - A near death experiance during a campaign fire puts things in perspective for Brett Richards.
Fire Camp (NSFW) - The worst thing about campaign fires are the sleeping arrangements.
Honey (NSFW) - Your morning takes an erotic turn when Brett brings a jar of honey into the bedroom.
Mr July - You recognise a familiar face when you accidently come across a vintage version of The Men of CalFire Calendar.
Ms September (NSFW) - Brett comes home to find you touching yourself to his Mr July calendar.
About You (NSFW) - You always know exactly what Brett needs.
Firefighters aren’t supposed to get stuck up trees, they aren’t supposed to be sitting on one of the branches with a freaked-out cat tucked against their chest, scowling at the Bengal responsible for the trapping them up there as she paces back and forth, stomping her tiny paws.
“You are an asshole.” He calls down to Peaches as she pauses beside the fallen ladder, looking up at Brett as if he’s the dumbest fuck in the universe. She responds by yowling up at him, as if she’s calling him one right back.
She’s been in a mood over the past few weeks because you haven’t been coming over the way you usually do. The logistics of divorcing your piece of shit ex-husband have been keeping you busy.
In Brett’s arms Tabby quivers, his claws sinking into Brett’s t-shirt, scraping his skin. He’s still freaked out from the noise the ladder made when it fell, that grating, abrupt metal clatter. Brett’s palm soothes along the length of his body as he whispers some reassuring words, and the cat starts to settle…
Right up to the point where Brett reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his cellphone to call for an assist. He doesn’t know if it’s the motion or the sudden shift of weight, but Tabby takes it as a threat and tries to lunge to the next branch, one where Brett has no chance of reaching him. Brett grabs him instinctively and that’s when the phone tumbles out of his hand, all the way to the ground, landing beside a very disinterested Peaches.
“Fuck…” He mutters as he clutches the Bengal, staring down at the device.
OK, he thinks. It’s fine, I have voice command.
“Siri.” He yells down to the phone. “Call Poppy.”
The screen lights up and Siri replies “Calling Poppy.”
There’s victory, but then Peaches, that pain in the ass of a cat, jabs her paw on the disconnect button and the screen goes dark.
Brett glares at her, open mouthed as she tilts her head to look up at him. “I’m trying to give you what you want.”
The expression on her features is the feline equivalent to a shrug.
Try harder…
“Siri.” He yells out exasperated. “Call Poppy.”
“Calling Pop…”
The cat stamps on the screen again, ending the call.
“What the actual fuck…” He seethes. “Are you punishing me? Is that what this is?”
Peaches doesn’t respond, instead she licks her paw and starts to clean her face, so Brett seizes the opportunity.
“Siri.” He tries again. “Call Poppy.”
The screen illuminates.
“Calling Poppy…”
The phone rings twice, he hears the click, the sound of your voice. He’s tries to speak but then Peaches starts to yowl directly into the microphone. It’s a long mournful noise that floods the speaker, drowning out Brett’s words as he tries to shout them. The call ends when she stabs the screen yet again with her paw.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Brett asks the Bengal. She starts pacing again, patrolling the phone and Brett realises he needs to come up with another solution.
He stares down at the ground and tries to measure the distance. The drop is about twenty feet. Not enough to kill him but certainly enough to break at least one of his legs, or fuck up his back even more. Then there’s the issue of Tabby. The whole reason he’s even up the tree is because the cat got himself stuck. Brett would be leaving him behind. Something he really does not want to do.
He's still debating the pros and cons when the back gate swings open revealing his saving grace in a pair of running leggings, an old grey t-shirt that says Feel The Burn. Sand still stains your Adidas running shoes from your interrupted beach run, your hair is pulled back into a braid, with stray whisps escaping from it. Your eyes fix on the fallen ladder, and your face turns ashen as you rush towards it, searching for the injured party.
“Up here!” Brett calls out and you tilt your head up to see him sitting there in the tree, Tabby clinging to him for dear life.
Peaches bolts towards you, winding around your ankles, rubbing her face against your calves as you place your hands on your hips, the edges of your mouth twitching as you look up at him.
“And I thought Jonathon was a cliché.” You tease before you shoo Peaches away so that you can pick up the ladder and set it against the tree. “You need me to come up there and grab Tabby from you?”
“No.” He says abruptly, holding up his palm to stop you as you step onto the first rung. His gaze switches to Peaches, who’s tail is swishing dangerously, clearly pissed off your attention is not on her. “I can’t be sure she won’t knock the damn thing down again in an act of vengeance.”
“Peaches did this?” You say surprised as you glance at the cat over your shoulder. She meows at you before treading a few steps away in an attempt to lead you to her favourite outdoor sitting spot for strokes. “Is she trying to get me to leave you up the tree?”
“She’s a menace.” Brett informs you as he starts his descent. “She’s been doing all sorts of naughty shit over the past week.”
“Oh.” You say because you’ve just realised how long it’s been since you were last here. Between your shifts and all the other stuff you’ve had going on, it’s been well over two weeks. “She misses me.”
Brett doesn’t respond, he’s too focused on keeping Tabby secure as he reaches the final rungs. He exhales with relief when he gets boots back on the ground before crouching down to let Tabby climb off his shoulder. The cat meows his thanks before he takes off towards his cat igloo underneath the shade of the apple tree.
Peaches is back, butting her head against your shin this time and you scoop her up with one hand, cradling her against your chest. She nestles in close, her eyes squeezing shut as you scratch that sweet spot behind her ears.
“No more trying to kill Daddy to get my attention.” You tell her off, booping her nose. She gives you a look that says ‘no promises’ as you shake your head.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been around more.” You apologise to Brett, watching as he takes down the ladder so that no one else gets any wild ideas of racing up it. “Leaving Jonathon, it’s harder than I thought.”
“You having second thoughts?” He questions gruffly, his focus intent on jamming the ladder back behind his shed where it usually resides.
“Fuck no.” You retort, cuddling Peaches, your fingertips stroking along her cheek. “I mean it’s logistically hard because there’s so much stuff to try and figure out. Like making sure the cabin will be habitable in the winter, changing my address on everything, working out what to give to Goodwill and what to keep. It’s just a lot, more than I expected.”
“Poppy, it’s only been a month since you found out he was cheating on you.” Brett reminds you, wiping his palms on his jeans before he turns to face you. “You’re allowed to take some time for yourself to figure shit out.”
“This one doesn’t seem to think so.” You remind him, tipping your head towards Peaches.
“This one is a bit of a dick.” He says affectionately, scratching Peaches’s back and she purrs in response because she’s now being loved on by both of her favourite people. “We’re not going away you know? We’ll still be here even if you do need some space.”
“I’m not sure you’d survive another attempt on your life.” You remark, kissing the top of Peaches’s head. “So I think it’s for the best I visit more, make sure there’s no further assassination attempts.”
“I’d appreciate that.” He tells you, his hand coming to rest on your lower back as he guides you towards the wicker chairs on his decking. “I’m scared the next one is gonna involve me waking up to a puppet on a tricycle asking me if I want to play a game.”
“You let her watch the SAW movies?” You gasp and he huffs out a chuckle at your reaction.
“I didn’t do anything, I just woke up in the middle of the night, and she’d managed to turn the TV on.” He explains, pulling out the chair for you to sit in. “I’ve started hiding the remote before bed in case she starts getting anymore ideas.”
You throwback your head and laugh and that sound… it’s entirely worth getting stuck up a tree for.
“I’ve missed this.” You tell him as you settle down into the seat, placing Peaches into your lap. “You, me, this little miscreant and the others.”
As if on cue Whistler’s tiny face appears at the kitchen window, her mouth moving in silent meows through the glass.
“I need to feed her.” Brett says running a hand through his steely, wayward curls. “You gonna stay a while?”
“Yeah.” You say, looking down at the cat purring contently in your lap. “I think I will.”
Love Brett? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.
Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.
Ready Player One: Because being subtle about your interests is overrated
Carry On: Who needs the actual series when you can skip right to the fanfiction
You know me well: Gaaaaaaaaaaaay
Half Bad: Sally, we were fucking joking about the tree thing
The Martian: How to survive on Mars for dummies
The Rest of Us Just Live Here: The fourth wall is also the Mcguffin
The Foxhole Court: Literal fucking torture for everyone involved
Elantris: Do you and your significant other have trouble connecting? Well then try our new "revolutionary" couple's therapy, Overthrowing World Governments™.
In the Company of Shadows: SIN
Radio Silence: We just wanna eat ice cream, shitpost, and record a podcast. Why is that so fucking hard.
Wolf By Wolf: That one episode of Doctor Who where they lock Hitler in the closet
Trials of Apollo: Bad news, we're somehow still here. Good news, all your faves are gay now
The Stormlight Archive: I have literally knocked over a grown man by throwing the paperback at his head.
The worst thing is when you read a book but it doesn’t have a fandom and no one you know has read it so you sort of just sit in the corner with your freshly damaged emotions in a jar
Once upon a different time, there was a girl who lived in a kingdom of death. Wolves howled up her arm. A whole pack of them—made of tattoo ink and pain, memory and loss. It was the only thing about her that ever stayed the same.
Yael Reider and Luka Löwe // ‘Wolf by Wolf’ by Ryan Graudin
“What’s the second creature?”
Not a wolf, not a wolf, not a wolf.
Luka had always reminded her of something else. Predatory and proud, lounging across floors and desert sands. Looking at Yael with a dangerous, fierce emotion in his eyes. Fighting when it mattered the most.
Once upon a different time, there was a girl who lived in a kingdom of death. Wolves howled up her arm. A whole pack of them–made of tattoo ink and pain, memory and loss. It was the only thing about her that ever stayed the same.
every eye was on her, but she felt only two pairs. the ones that were digging, digging, digging at her back. mining a past she didn’t hold inside her memories. creating holes she couldn’t fill.
don’t think i’ve forgotten what you did.
you have nothing left to prove. everything to lose.
